A few feet from the entrance a fan reached out and grabbed Ritter, jerking him hard against the metal barricade. Shayle’s left hand was squashed violently between Ritter’s body and the silver metal barricade. Instinctively, Shayle turned and grabbed the fan’s arm in her right hand. She thought the fan was a girl, but couldn’t be sure. It’s face was a cross between a stone statue and a horse with blue tented skin.
There was a pink bow in her short spiky sandy brown hair and a tennis skirt on her bulky body. And was that makeup? Whatever it/he/she was, it had its hands on Ritter. Leaning over the barrier, Shayle put her face right in the fan’s so they were nose to snout and squeezed the fan’s arm hard.
“If you don’t take your hand off of him right now, I’ll break your fucking arm.” Shayle growled at the girl though gritted teeth.
Truthfully, she had no idea if the fan could understand her language, but the glare, the gritted teeth and her tone, got her meaning across efficiently. The girl let go of Ritter and shrank away from the barrier.
There was a pause, while they got their group situated again. Only then could Shayle pull her hand out from where it was being crushed. No other fan dared reach toward Ritter after Shayle’s outburst, thankfully letting them make it to the door without another problem.
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